The Debt
by Elizabeth Klingler
Summary: Qira has been rescued by the Mandalorian, and now feels the urge to pay off a debt to him for saving her life. Having been an ex-imperial, she is determined to keep that title private from her new 'master'. That is until her old officer wants her to bring information to him. Torn between the Mandalorian and her old way of life, Qira must make a difficult decision.
1. New Beginnings

Maybe it was the suffocating stench of the smoke, or the man standing in front of me. Perhaps it was because I am suspended upside down in the air. Well, whatever was causing it, anger simmered in my breasts like a kindling flame ready to rupture.

"Qira, this is the last time I will ask you, where is the money?"

The tall man shifted his weight onto his left leg as if he had been standing there for days. It felt like days, at least. The sun was already setting behind the thick asper trees that grew near the edge of the village, molding vibrant colors across the landscape.

Maybe if I were sane, I wouldn't be in the situation I am in. Perhaps if I hadn't had so many drinks, I wouldn't be mumbling like a drunkard.

I am startled when the huge, brawny woman holding my body in the air shakes me till everything goes blurry and unfocused. The man barks out a laugh.

"You are the stubborn type, aren't you?"

"For good reason, Zuro." I snap.

Zuro was big, but he wasn't dumb. His soul was like the night sky, the darkest ebony with specks of light. This man only cared for what people could bring him, and if you couldn't get him what he wanted…

"Listen, girl; I haven't got all night. So, if you don't find any compliance, then I will have no choice but to toss you to the rathtars."

I arch a suspicious brow. "You have rathtars?"

His gaze flickers to the left for a fleeting moment before returning to catch my gaze. "Of course."

"If you think you could control me before, you can't now," I spread my arms wide so that my chest is vulnerable. "Come on, get it over with."

By the way Zuro bites his lower lip, I know this wasn't the outcome he had wanted. Well, buddy, it wasn't the outcome I had wished for either, but here we are.

And then it happens. Zuro crumples to the ground, a blaster hole fuming in his chest to the point I can almost see through it. Something whizzes past my head and strikes the woman. Her grasp on me instantly loosens, and I plummet to the relentless earth below.

"Dammit!" I shriek.

Instinct kicks in, and before the enemy can have another second to wind up an attack, I grab for my fallen blaster and point it towards the person.

He stands but meters away, his blaster raised and poised towards me as if provoking my next move. His entire body is covered in polished metal armor. Even his head is encased with a helmet, so I cannot see his features. And I know exactly who he is.

"A Mandalorian," I murmur under my breath. Then louder, I say," You're a Mandalorian?"

The figure doesn't so much as move to indicate he has heard me, but rather keeps all of his attention on the blaster.

I slowly start to stand up while still gazing at him with a trained eye. If there was one thing I learned about Mandalorians, it's that they take their bounties very seriously. Anything, and I mean anything in their way, will be quickly reduced to ash.

Something about him, the way he holds himself, or even the way he grips his blaster, is different. But I can't seem to put a definite finger on it, and that makes me irritated.

There are a few more moments of tense silence before he looks to the side and returns his blaster to its holster. Sensing a change in pace, I replace my own and cock my head to the side.

"Why are you here? Are you here to bring me in?"

The idea intrigues as much as disturbs me, for I do not know if I would want to face the Guild again.

He shakes his head. "No, just thought you were in trouble."

I take a sidelong glance at the bodies lying on the ground and give a firm nod of the head. "Well, thank you for that."

The Mandalorian bows his head and waits a few seconds before turning to leave.

"Wait!"

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I rush over to the man holding up a hand for him to stop. His black lensed helmet peers down at me as if I am a little pup running to its master.

"What can I do in return? It would be rude of me to let you leave without returning the favor."

"No," he says abruptly as if the very idea is a vile act of treason. "No need."

"But surely you understand," I press. "As is the Code. A Mandalorian must repay the duties of others, in which case I am in your service."

He stops walking and shifts towards me. "You are no Mandalorian."

I bite my lower lip. "Well, no, not exactly. But I was, and have lived by the Code for longer than I can remember. You of all people should understand the dedication of those who follow the Guild."

"Do not speak to me of such things," he retorts hotly. "I have been with the Guild since I was very young. I know the Code."

"Then, you will understand the need to repay you," I say, stepping forward. The Mandalorian visibly stiffens at my approach and grips his blaster tighter.

The sun has almost set behind the forest line. Deep shadows dance across the walls surrounding us and travel up to invade our surroundings.

"How can I trust you?" the man asks after a few moments of silence.

"Because I am honor-bound, and will only be with you until I work off my debt," I say with the most sincerity I have had in a long time.

If he believes me, he gives no indication whatsoever. I understand his initial hesitation. Some random scavenger asking to accompany you would leave me grappling for trust. He sighs, which is mostly static emitting from his helmet.

"Only until you pay off the debt," he says while turning around towards the center of town. "My ship is that way at dock fifteen. Wait for me there while I collect my supplies."

Hope fills in my chest as I make my way towards the shipping depot. Nothing like a job working for a hard-hearted Mandalorian. Something to do in these endless days that pass without remission of the past.

His ship is a pre-Empire gun vessel. It's a little rusted around the edges and has no doubt seen the wear and tear of several wars. The last bit of sun bounces off the polished alloy armor that covers it.

I walk beside it and allow my finger to trace the outline of the metal plates. A garbled, distorted image of myself flashes back at me.

The inside is much like the outside: battered and used. Crates of supplies or simply mechanical parts are strewn around the quarters with no rational order. I am careful what I touch in fear he will learn somehow of my snooping and promptly kick me off the agreement.

I am just starting to climb up the ladder to the cockpit when something moves in my peripheral vision. It startles me so much that I simply freeze where I am and wait a few seconds before shifting to see what it was.

Nothing catches my eye, and everything looks the same since the last time I checked.

Carefully I step off the ladder and grab my blaster from its holster. The feeling of being watched pervades my consciousness enough to make me shiver.

Once again, something moves to my right. I spin on my heels and point the blaster towards the trespasser. A very small trespasser, I find out.

At first, I cannot tell what it is. The creature has huge black almond-shaped eyes and long pointed tipped ears that bulge out from its small green wrinkled head. It is cloaked in a long cowl that drags on the floor when it walks.

I slowly lower the blaster and return it to its holster with a melodious click. I kneel and cock my head at this intriguing creature.

"You touch it, and you're as good as dead."

I jump in surprise and whip around to find the Mandalorian standing at the hangar door. He is facing me, undoubtedly with a scowl, though I can't know for sure because of the helmet.

"I wasn't going to," I say.

The man doesn't respond but turns and grabs one of the supply crates and starts walking it up the ramp.

"If you don't mind getting the rest of those," he sets the box down and turns to the small creature.

I take the hint and rise from my squatting position and begin lifting the semi-heavy crates into the ship. When the supplies are neatly stacked, I realize the little kid has disappeared, and the Mandalorian is nowhere to be seen.

Curious, I peer into the cockpit and catch a glimpse of the creature sitting in a makeshift cradle-like design. It turns its head and looks at me with those large sparkling black eyes.

"You make that?" I ask without taking my gaze off the strange animal.

The Mandalorian doesn't answer immediately. "No."

I nod my head in understanding while smiling at the little one. "Does he have a name?"

"No."

Not a very bright Mandalorian, is he? I decide to give up on the questions and head back down the ladder, only to find the hangar door is shut and bolted.

"Hey, Mando, what-?"

To answer the ship lurches forward, the engine creaking and groaning as the vessel takes to the air. Nothing like an unannounced take off to wake you up.

The supply crates shift slightly, the contents inside of them jumping around and straining against the latched covers. I move to secure them with a stray metal cord.

When I am satisfied they won't budge I step away and very nearly step on the green creature. It stops for a hesitant moment to let me pass before proceeding to a small room on the adjacent wall. More like a storage compartment, and it probably would be if it weren't for all the blankets and pillows that made it into a sheltered niche.

The Mandalorian climbs down the ladder before I can approach the child and stares at me appraisingly. What I hate most about his helmet is that I cannot determine what he is feeling or thinking, which gives me a weird sense of futility.

"You said you were a Mandalorian," he says coldly. "Yet you do not wear a beskar helmet nor our armor. Why is that?"

Was he seriously wanting a backstory?

"I used to," I say cautiously.

The Mandalorian leans against the alloy metal and stares at me intently. I swallow.

"But when I was sent out on my first assignment, the client turned against me," I make sure to keep any feeling from my words, so I do not sound like some emotional snob. "The Guild thought I was dead, so when I returned, they evoked my membership and sent me on my way. Lived out here ever since."

He doesn't say anything. I wait patiently for his response, though I fear I have somehow upset him with my story. As always, he gives no clear indication that I have.

Before he can respond, the child coos from his small room, green hands outstretched towards the Mandalorian. He sidesteps around the ladder and stands over the tiny creature, allowing it his finger. The child lets out another set of mews, and a smile brims on its face.

"So, how exactly did you two come about?" I ask curiously.

The Mandalorian turns his head slightly so that I can barely see the black lense. His beskar armor plates grind against one another as he moves.

"Oh, right. No questions asked, sorry."


	2. Reality

The clunky ship hurtles through space - the darkest of ebony with specks of light. Stars blink back at us from afar as they silently watch.

Nothing seems to quench the excitement that simmers in my breast as we approach one of the smaller planets in this system.

A deep, choking haze surrounds it, concealing the swirls of green and blue below. We enter the suffocating atmosphere, and only then do I understand what it is made up of. Enormous metal parts of old ships mingled with space ore enclose us.

The Mandalorian flips a few switches on the control panel and presses forward on the throttle.

"What happened here?" I ask breathlessly. Part of a TIE fighter wing drifts over the ship, barely grazing the metal plates.

Instead of answering my question, the Mandalorian rises and exits the cockpit without another word. Bewildered, I follow him out and down the ladder.

He stands in front of an open compartment door; his back turned to me. I peer around his shoulder and widen my eyes in astonishment.

Everything from electro rods to F-11D trooper rifles hangs in rows from the alloy casing. The Mandalorian clutches a long metal staff from the side door then seals the compartment.

I am thankful for the blaster on my belt, especially among such a skilled warrior.

The warrior walks over to the small storage-room-turned-bunk and flips it open. The Child peers up longingly, his big back eyes twinkling.

"I'm coming along too, right?" I ask expectantly.

The man visibly stiffens as he secures the infant in his arms. "You're not coming."

It takes all I have to muscle back the millions of insults that rush to the tip of my tongue. Instead, I swallow back my retorts and bite the insides of my cheek.

"Trust blows both ways, you know?"

There are a few moments of silence. Even from here, I can sense his vexation. His fingers flip a button on a small control panel, and the bay doors open.

"Alright," he says. "Let's go.

The ship has landed on a small plateau. The grass is the deepest emerald green and as ample as a newborn fathier's fur. Trees surround the clearing, their branches spreading proud and tall towards the deep Azul blue sky.

"Stay alert," The Mandalorian says, snapping me back to the ploy at hand.

His beskar armor boots sink into the rich and fertile soil, leaving a solid trail behind him. Suddenly I am all too aware of the blaster hanging from its holster on my hip. Itching, coaxing me to use it. And I sorely want to.

A village lies not but a mile from our docking point. Huts of all different shapes and sizes stand against the lush landscape. Thatched roofs cover over the crudely made wooden dwellings, protecting all that is inside.

"I thought you already got supplies," I queried while surveying the small encampment. "What do you need here?"

"_Who_," the Mandalorian corrects me. "It's _who_ I need here."

Intrigued, I bite my bottom lips while quietly contemplating our surroundings. No one in this village looks particularly threatening.

Children of all ages play in huddled groups; their lips turned up in smiles, and the skin around their eyes crinkling in laughter.

Women sit cross-legged near the huts while skillfully weaving baskets from long strands of thick twine, which are dyed in a vibrant array of colors: everything from sky blue to deep mahogany.

When the children finally spot the Mandalorian, they nearly topple over one another as they scramble towards him.

The Child coos happily as one of them, a petite girl with cinnamon skin and long brown hair envelopes him in a hug.

Not so much as flinching at the encounter, the Mandalorian leans over and lifts the small creature from his cradle.

The children engulf him to the point I can no longer detect his little figure. Cries of joy or merely fond remarks fill the air as everyone struggles to look at the kid.

Only then do I realize one of the women has broken off from the group of others and has started to approach the Mandalorian. Her eyes are a soft hazel, warm, and inviting. I take an instant liking to her.

"Din," she says, voice filling with a sense of satisfaction. "I thought we'd never see you again."

Instantly Din's whole body slackens from its tense state as he turns to greet her.

"Omera," he bows his head. "Good to see you again."

"We didn't think you'd return," she repeats, though only excitement coats her words.

The Mandalorian sighs. "And I wish I were here on a more pleasant task."

Omera cocks her head slightly to the side, a sense of worry becoming her creased face. "What is it?"

"I'll tell you later," by the way he lowers his voice, I know it is something that does not concern me. It shouldn't make me irritated, but it does.

"Mother!" the small girl from the group of kids exclaims. Omera glances over with a becoming grin.

"Look!"

The child has somehow found a small nest of insects and has just torn the head off one of them, green ooze spilling from the decapitated neck. I fight back nausea that rises in my chest.

Omera laughs, her eyes brimming with the rapture she so blatantly felt. "Your son sure has an unusual appetite."

I cannot help but chuckle as her comment, and only then does she realize my presence.

"And who is this?"

Din turns towards me, apparently also surprised I am here. "She is-"

I roll my eyes and offer a hand to the woman. "Qira. Qira Runa."

"Qira," Omera repeats, her head dipping in acknowledgment. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well," I say fondly.

Din seems estranged to our greeting, and I promptly shift away. I can feel his glare boring into my back like hot knives.

"We have fresh accommodations for you both," Omera continues, oblivious to the icy stares Din is giving me.

"Thank you," the Mandalorian says, his attention retreating to the woman. "That is very kind."

Omera smiles pleasantly and leads us towards one of the wooden huts bordering the fields. A porch outside overlooks the center of the village, a refreshing sight at that.

The inside is rather cozy. Three beds line the back and sidewalls and a traditional carpet patterns the floor.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Omera says, then promptly exits the room.

Din turns to place his staff against the back wall, pointedly not looking at me.

My chest clenches in irritation. It will take a lot to prove to him before he realizes that I am only here to help. And he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would listen to an honest explanation.

To busy me from the rising anger, I smooth out the creases and wrinkles on my bedsheet (Nervous habit of mine) and pull back the top cover (Also a habit).

Fresh air blows in through the open windows, a welcome accommodation after spending the last hour on a stuffy ship. The laughs of the children also loft through while mingling with the pungent spices from the kitchens.

Gritting my teeth, I turn and sit down on the cot, my body instantly sagging as every muscle unravels from the tight knot they have worked themselves into.

The Mandalorian excuses himself from the hut, leaving me alone to my thoughts. Not a very good thing, I must add.

Me. Working under a Mandalorian. The thought makes my heart flutter, the traitorous thing. Never in a million years would I have thought I would be working with a Mandalorian.

Before I can delve any deeper into the feeling, there is a soft knock at the door, and I look up to spot Omera standing their, eyes sparkling. She waits until I nod her in before speaking.

"Dinner is ready if you're hungry."

I offer a forced smile in return. "Thank you. I'll be right there."

The woman nods and exits the room, her hair flowing out as the wind cuts through its strands.

Sometime during the night, I am awoken by hushed and urgent voices. My whole body tenses as I cock my head to hear better.

"-in the Northern reaches."

"No."

That was Din. At his voice, I clutch my sheet and swallow.

"That is the most logical assumption."

Now that was Omera. Her voice carries from the deck outside: soft and calculated.

"With this little one, I do not think we should resort to logical reasoning," Din says, his voice unusually gentle.

"They are still after him?" Omera asks. Her voice drips with concern.

There is a moment of tense silence before the Mandalorian responds.

"The Empire is, and I feel to no end until they reach him. I've already seen them-"

Another lull in the conversation. Something about the way Din's voice pitched makes my chest clench.

"-they've already taken two of my friends to get him. I fear the Imps will do more if they have to."

"Do you know why they are after him? I mean, why is he so unique?"

The Mandalorian sighs. "I wish I knew."

There is a creak on the footboards, and Din appears from outside, his form faintly outlined by the moon's light. His boots click softly against one another as he returns to his bed, sliding down into a sitting position so that he turns his back to me.

I pull back the covers and prop myself up on my elbow so that I can see him.

"You should be asleep," he says gruffly, fatigue coating his words. I cannot help but feel a stab of pity for him.

"Can't," is my reply.

"I can ask Omera to make a sleeping draft for you," Din suggests, his shoulders slumping forward slightly.

"It's fine."

There are a few moments of silence. At that time, I stare at the Mandalorian, biting the inside of my cheek.

Feeling like there is no more to be said, I slide back down onto my back and allow my eyes to close.

_A plume of smoke envelopes me, choking me. Plasma blasts whiz by my head, one barely grazing my shoulder. _

_Stormtroopers run by me like water around a rock, their blasters ringing as shots of red spur through the air towards some unsuspecting target. _

_I grip my rifle tighter and race into the gunfire. Adrenalin courses through my veins and encourages me forward like an invisible force. _

_The sky is as dark as night, even though it's midday. Fires rage all around, threatening to burn anyone who might venture close enough. _

_Something grabs my shoulder, and I shriek. I spin around and lift my blaster, ready to tear the person to oblivion. _

_A small boy peers at me through sunken blue speckled eyes while he lifts a shaking hand towards the sky. His lips move without noise, the blaster fire covering over his words. _

_I follow his gesture just before a spray of explosives shreds the ground beneath me to tatters. _

**_Hey guys, thanks for reading! I'm having a fun time writing this, and I am always open to criticism where needed. _**

**_Sorry it seems to be coming along rather slow, this is mostly just the set up to the rest of the story - promise it'll get more interesting *wink, wink* _**


	3. Redemption

I stare down at my calloused fingers, the tips of my nails chipped and noticeably worn from years of use. But I am far from concerned over my appearance.

I pinch my eyes shut as the dream from the night before flashes across my vision in vivid spasms—the roar of an Imperial TIE fighter engine. Shouts of victims as their pleas for mercy get abruptly cut off. The snap of gun far and explosion as the plasma blast finds its mark on my arm, searing the flesh straight off the bone.

There's a terse knock at the door, and I glance up expectantly. Omera is standing there, her hands wrapped keenly in front of her form. Her hair is pulled back into a traditional braid, a flower sticking out from the left ear.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Omera questions. Her eyes glisten from the morning sun as it beams through the window.

"No, not at all," I say wistfully while forcefully blocking the morbid thoughts from my mind. "What do you need?"

"Din has requested your presence at his ship. You'll be leaving in an hour."

This information makes me rise. "We're leaving?"

By the way Omera adverts her eyes, I know this is difficult news for her as well. Something about her and Din shows sharp and pure. Whatever interactions they have had in the past, it was plastered on their choice of words how they felt of the other—relaxed and easy-going.

I nod my head and thank the woman for the news. She forces a smile and leaves, her dress wafting out around her as she turns.

Obedient to the calling, I make my way towards the Crest, which sits on the far side of the forest line out skirting the village.

The sun has just risen, its tendrils of fire reaching out as it slowly but surely climbs into the sky from its night of slumber. The thick trees that poke from the ground reflect the sun's colors and uniform themselves in a blissful pattern.

I spot Din loading a crate of material into the ship's cargo haul; his back bent as he stoops to put it down.

"Need any help with that?"

The Mandalorian visibly stiffens at my abrupt entry but doesn't pause in his task. "Yes, thank you."

I move over to one of the last supply bags and throw it over my shoulder with a grunt. Whatever is inside is heavy as hell and pulls down in attempts to regain footage on the ground.

As I set it down, some of the contents scatter out onto the deck. With a gasp, my hands fumble to recover control. A keenly sharpened Vibro ax falls into my grip.

"Hey, Din?" I take a hesitant side glance over at the Mandalorian before retreating my gaze back to the polished weapon. "What exactly_ is_ our assignment?"

Din doesn't answer. Instead, he steps over and rips the ax from my grasp and substitutes it with an alloy rod.

"Have much experience in hand to hand combat?"

I am momentarily taken back by the question. "Yes."

He activates the Vibro ax, a flare of pure electricity crackling from its blade. The light illuminates the _Crest's_ iron boarded haul in a fusion of white and red sparks.

"Show me."

My gaze flickers to the rod I hold in my hand then to the sputtering demon-possessed weapon he has in his.

"You can't call _this_ fair."

"It's not about fair," he answers tersely.

_Damn him_, I seeth to myself. I seize the metal rod tighter in my grasp to the point of my knuckles turning white. Who was I to stop him if he wanted to get pummeled?

With a grunt, I race at him and raise the bar to strike him. He parries to the side, and my weapon comes down on his vambrace with a sharp trill. In response, Din whisks around and drives the butt of the ax into my stomach.

I haphazardly swing the rod up and smile when it hits his armored plates. I wouldn't back down from this fight, even if it cost me my dignity. I was going to show him my strength, that I wasn't expendable, that I was a worthy asset to him.

With those thoughts in mind, I swing the bar around and aim for another hit on the chest. But this time, he is ready. With barely a grunt, he turns to the side and forces a surge of electricity into my body.

Suddenly everything becomes blurry and unfocused like a planet set off its axis. He jumps in before I have fully regained control and pushes with the side of the Vibro ax. Pushes until my knees begin to buckle, and my arms start to give.

I wouldn't let him win. I wouldn't lose this.

With one last final thrust, I sweep the alloy rod up and clock him square in the jaw. His body stumbles back and stands paralyzed for an agonizing heartbeat before collapsing on the ground.

Din's weapon slips from his hands and lands on the dirt with a metallic thud, its surges of energy diminishing until it deactivates. He kneels on the ground, gasping for breath.

With a rush of confidence, I walk up so that I am but a foot from his form. I cannot help a smirk of satisfaction.

"Surrender?"

The word barely leaves my mouth before something sweeps under my leg. The world goes once again blurry as my body leaves the ground, and I collapse onto my back with a sickening snap.

Din stands over me, albeit with a smile of his own.

"Mandalorians don't _surrender_," he says ardently. Din retrieves the Vibro ax and replaces it with the others.

"You have skill," he says while closing the haul door.

I gingerly heave myself up, careful not to put too much weight on my arms. I follow the Mandalorian's back as he walks up the ramp to the Crest. He doesn't even turn to say the next words.

"Coming?"

With a grimace, I take hold of the alloy rod and shove it into my pocket. Perhaps he saw my will, my strength. Something many people pointedly overlooked. Maybe he was different.

I start up the ramp when something catches my eyes. It is fast, fast enough to make me believe I have missed it.

But when I turn, I am shocked to notice two glowing white eyes glaring back at me from one of the surrounding bushes. It blinks as it studies me than the ship.

_And that's when all hell explodes._

Plasma blasts rain down from the sky; their origins hidden from view by the vast expanse of the trees above.

The ground erupts as the bullets find their mark in the dirt and spray it yards into the air. The haul of the Crest is sprayed with a surge of blasts, the red demons doing little against its protective shield.

A heavy hand comes down hard on my shoulder and rips me backward into the ship. I gasp as the door closes in front of me, barely fast enough as another wave hits it.

"We have to go," Din says, voice unusually strained as he makes his way back towards the cockpit.

The child is in his cradle and stares expectantly at me, clearly unaffected by the attack from outside. Its little ears twitch at each sound of blaster fire, and even his coos are drowned out by the explosions.

With a groan, the ship lifts into the air, its sides rocking back and forth in attempts to gain enough altitude to clear the tree line. Already warning lights flash and assault my hearing with their ear-piercing screeches of alarm.

"Hold on!" Din calls from the cockpit.

In reaction, I falter over to the cradle and wrap my arms protectively around its sides, hugging it tightly to my shaking body. The small creature wails in trepidation as the ship takes a sudden dip to the side.

Supplies rattle in their crates, some of them yanking loose and crashing to the deck below, their contents scattering around the small enclosed space.

There's another sharp turn, this time the other way. This time it's too much. The cradle goes flying from my grasp and slams into the wall. Another dip causes my body to flail to the side in a desperate attempt to regain balance.

And then everything is still. Almost as fast as it had begun, it is quiet and peaceful. Only the soft hum of the engine breaks the silence.

I help myself up and step over to the cradle, half expecting the child to be lost, or worse…

A green head sticks up from a clump of blankets, the two almond black eyes I know all too well staring back at me with genuine surprise.

I grab him and hug him close. His soft coos reverberate from my arms. That was way too close.

I hear the frantic pattering of feet from above and then Din's form as he nearly slides down the ladder in haste. He turns and lets out a relieved sigh when he catches sight of the child.

"Give him to me," he nearly rips the creature from my grasp and in desperation. He lifts him to the light and checks the child over for any injury.

When Din has thoroughly looked the kid over, I step forward.

"Alright, what the hell was that?"

The Mandalorian tips his helmet towards me and sighs. "Just some Imps."

"Sure, that explains it all." I snarl, heat rising in my cheeks. "Everything, from the unexplained supply haul and the sudden cargo of weapons."

Din glares at me, and I can almost feel his eyes boring their way into my soul. I grunt.

"I get it. You don't want me here. But if we're going to get through," I wave my hands in the air like I am conjuring a spell. "Whatever this is, then I don't want to be kept in the shadows on things, especially when they involve the hazard of losing a life."

Din continues to stare at me, almost like my words aren't precisely registering. The light reflects off his visors, his beskar armor glinting in the luster. Without looking at me, he replaces the child to its cradle and returns to the cockpit, his cape flying out from underneath him as he mounts the ladder.

I sigh in vexation. This man was as unbreakable as a carbon block. His priorities seemed to already be in line too: that small creature of his.

I didn't hate the child, but I couldn't hold back but a little jealousy for him. Being protected like he was by the Mandalorian. Something about that made a strange feeling rise in my chest. I yearned for that same protection—love and devotion.

What am I thinking? I push the thoughts to the back of my consciousness and curl up on my cot. A wave of chills washes over my body, and I grip my cowl tighter. This would be a long night.


End file.
